Wounded Love (A Rocky Harbor Novel Book 3)

by Marianne Rice

  Wounded Love

  The Rocky Harbor Series

  Book 3

  By Marianne Rice

  Wounded Love

  Copyright © 2017 by Marianne Rice.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: April 2017

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-064-0

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-064-5

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Anne Marie, who knows my characters better than I do. You’re a beautiful person inside and out and I’m lucky to call you my friend.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

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  Chapter One

  Colton

  Colton Riley cursed as he rolled out of bed, the pieces of shrapnel still buried beneath his muscle burning like an erupting volcano in his thigh. Rubbing the swollen stump beneath his knee, he let out another string of curses at which his mother would cross her chest and do fifteen Hail Mary’s if she heard—even though she wasn’t Catholic—then hefted himself to stand on his right foot. Sadie sat patiently by his feet, looking up at him with excited eyes.

  “You’ll get your breakfast after I shower.” Sadie wagged her tail and nudged his good leg with her nose.

  The narrow twin bed could barely hold his six foot four inch frame, but anything larger wouldn’t fit in his closet-sized bedroom. Sadie didn’t help either, insisting on sleeping by his side every night. The damn retriever took up more space than a woman. Yet he preferred Sadie. She didn’t look at him with pity or disappointment.

  It took four hops on his right foot to reach the bathroom. He turned on the taps, not caring if the water heater worked this morning; he needed a cold shower to wash off the sweat from his sleep.

  His nightmares had lessened, but he still found himself tangled in his sheets in the morning, fighting off the demons of war. After a quick shower he dried off and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Colton had never been one to care about his looks. He’d been teased in elementary school for having girly eyes. Serena called them sea green and used to swoon over his long, dark lashes. That was before she had her breakfast, a fifth of jack, and could still remember his name, or to feed him. He hadn’t seen her in twenty years, much preferring his adopted parents, Doreen and Keith Riley.

  He’d need another shower if his mind continued its trip down memory lane. Shaking his past away and his wet hair out of his face, he leaned against the counter and scowled at the image staring back at him. The military short cut he’d donned for nearly a decade had grown out, as had his facial hair. Colton didn’t give a rat’s ass what he looked like. The beard on his face and hair that reached his collar helped to cover some of his scars.

  Scars he had no intention of discussing or revealing. Ever. Screw the damn therapists and their urge for him to continue with his therapy once at home. He knew he had a major case of PTSD, even after being on American soil for ten months. There were those who were in denial, thinking they could acclimate themselves into the world again after seeing the evils of war, but he didn’t convolute himself in to thinking he’d cope in the real world. Damaged beyond repair, inside and out, Colton stared at his eyes in the mirror, the only bright and clear thing about him.

  His mom, brothers, sisters, and hell, even their new spouses, had treated him like a long lost brother since his return home four months ago. He supposed he was. Taking off to join the Marines had come as a shock to his entire family. Including him. He’d only returned a few times during his three tours. The last had been for his father’s funeral. Not his biological father’s. He could rot in prison for the rest of his life—which he was—but for Keith Riley, his adopted father.

  Last he’d heard, Serena was wasting herself away in Boston, waiting tables, drinking her tips, and whoring her body. That news was nearly twenty years old and he doubted it had changed much.

  Doreen and Keith had taken him in as messed up fifteen-year-old and loved him unconditionally. His true mother still showed him that unconditional love even after returning from war damaged and angry.

  They’d already had three other adopted kids when Colton entered their family. Luke and Graham had been with them for six years and were close to him in age, and Rachael had come along a few years before him. She was only ten at the time and had followed the three boys around everywhere they went.

  Colton’s face nearly cracked into a smile at the memory of little Rach, blonde hair, blue eyes, and long, toothpick legs. She’d grown up to be a strong woman and would be getting married in the spring. Her fiancé, Jake Morgan seemed like a good guy. Rough around the edges with evident scars from his past as well, but Colton wasn’t one for swapping stories. If you asked about someone’s story they often wanted to know yours.

  No thanks. Still, the guy was a good match for Rachael, despite his stint in juvie and serving a few years in prison. Jake was one of the few who came out reformed, rehabilitated, whatever the hell they called it. Rachael had given Colton hell when he returned for giving the family the brush off over the years, and he loved her still.

  Glancing at his watch, he noted the time and hopped back to his room to attach his prosthetic leg. He’d gotten better and more efficient with the hunk of steel and plastic and Sadie had learned to help. She sat next to him, his compression sock in her mouth.

  The dog would eat up and shit out every other sock he owned, but she had sense enough to leave his specialized ones alone.

  Once attached, he rotated his leg the best he could and, grabbing a pair of fatigue pants from the floor, he pulled them on before sliding his foot into a work boot. Maneuvering his prosthetic into the boot took a little more finesse, but once dressed, the only way a civilian could tell he wasn’t whole was by his limp. He supposed he should invest in some clothes other than the military issued ones, but shopping hadn’t been high on his list of priorities.

  Well, when he made a list he was sure it wouldn’t be high up there.

  After a few months with annoying physical therapists, he’d ditched his appointments and made up his own regimen. He’d never get back to his five-minute miles, but he had started jogging again. Last night he did a ten-mile stretch, which was why his leg hurt like a mother this morning.

  Picking up his worn camouflage Marines baseball cap, he shoved it on his head before limping down the short hall of his trailer to his pathetic excuse for a
kitchen. Not that he cooked much or needed a lot of space. There was enough room on the counter to hold a small microwave and his coffeemaker, with a little room left over to make a sandwich.

  He dumped a scoop of Folgers into the filter, turned on the machine, and grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge and his Shredded Wheat from the cabinet. All without having to move his feet an inch. The only perk about living in a sardine can.

  Sadie wagged her tail and he ignored his bowl to fill the dog dish full of Purina.

  He shoveled in his cereal standing up, rinsed the bowl when he was done, and poured his coffee into a travel mug. The small checks he received from the Wounded Warrior fund kept minimal groceries in his fridge and allowed him to take some time to heal, and the money he’d put away and invested while overseas had made him a nice nest egg, but he needed to work. To be active.

  Sweet Rachael had hooked him up with a temporary gig at the inn where she cooked. Not exactly the work he’d been looking for—had he been looking—but he wouldn’t let his sister down. Again.

  The innkeeper needed a glorified handyman for a few weeks to get the place ready for winter, and since Rach and Jake would be getting married there in the spring, he’d make sure the place was fixed up nice. She deserved it. He accepted the job to make his sister smile. The only nice thing he’d done since he’d been home.

  Colton grabbed the keys to the used Chevy Silverado he’d found on Craigslist and shoved his arms into his fatigue shirt. “Can’t come with me today, girl.” He leaned down and scratched Sadie behind her ears. “I’ll ask the owner if you can tag along tomorrow. ‘K?”

  Over the past month he’d managed to learn how to get in and out of his truck without looking like a total invalid. Grabbing hold of one of the shit grips, he hefted his two-hundred-pound body into the cab of his truck.

  Graham had been the first to get his license and Colton would never forget the joy ride he and Luke went on with their oldest brother. They’d gone mudding down the tote trails behind their house with Graham’s fixer-upper truck. He’d blown out the transmission and nearly popped a tire pushing it over rocks meant for an ATV. Luke had grabbed on to the handle above the door and yelled, “Shit!” Ever since, they’d been known as the shit grips.

  For the second time, his face cracked into a semi-grin. Today was going to be some kind of record. Colton started up the truck and drove away from his little slice of heaven in to town.

  After Keith died, he’d put down a deposit on a hundred acres on the outskirts of Rocky Harbor, and only a few miles down the road from his family home. Most of the land was crap. Rock, ledge and poor soil. He didn’t care, though. It was his.

  Driving into town and past some of the wealthier homes on the coast, his fingers clenched around the steering wheel as his mind drifted to the pretty, rich girl who stole, then broke his heart nearly a decade ago.

  ***

  Ellie

  “You’re sure I’m not imposing on your brother? I’ll pay him, but it’s not a lot. I feel bad mooching off of friends.”

  “You’re not mooching if you’re paying him, and he doesn’t have anything better to do. Well, he’s in between jobs right now,” Rachael said as she walked past Ellie, hands laden with groceries. Rachael had turned out to be an excellent hire. She baked the best cookies and brownies and pies—which accounted for the additional ten pounds Ellie had put on over the summer—and helped her launch a delicious breakfast menu for the guests. By spring they’d be serving dinner on the weekends as well. Which meant even more hires.

  Rachael had been a life-saver, and hopefully they’d find more help who were just as qualified. Sanding the trim to the hundred-year-old inn wasn’t Ellie’s idea of a good time, but the work needed to be done and she couldn’t afford a big crew to do it for her.

  Ellie managed the lower level of the house and most of the porch, but there was no way in heck she was climbing a ladder to the second and third floors. The man at the hardware store said the painting process wouldn’t be as painful. She hoped he was right. Shaking out her wrists, she wiped the sweat that formed on her upper lip despite the cool fifty-degree temps, and continued on the porch rail.

  The summer months had been too busy and too warm to do any of the outside projects. October still kept her rooms full during the weekends with leaf peepers, and her weeks were filled with projects and planning for next year.

  “You never told me your brother’s name. He just got back from Afghanistan, right?” Ellie called over her shoulder, hearing Rachael coming through the house and toward the opened front door. She couldn’t imagine her son ever going off to war. She’d be a mess knowing the perils of danger he’d be in every day. The poor mothers and wives of soldiers.

  “Oh. He just pulled in. Perfect timing. I hate to bolt, but I’m running late. Everything will work out great. He’s a hard worker.” Rachael hopped past her down the stairs and opened the door to an oversized truck.

  Ellie couldn’t hear their words and didn’t want to intrude, so she turned her back and continued with her task at hand. A moment later she heard heavy footsteps dragging across the gravel walkway and Rachael driving off.

  “Rachael said you’re the owner?” a deep, familiar voice said behind her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, her banana muffin doing summersaults in her belly. No. It couldn’t be. It had been so long ago. It was the location of the Inn and too many memories, too many lonely nights that made her think of him. Dream of him. Long for him.

  Standing tall, she pulled the stray hairs that had escaped her ponytail back and cleared her throat before turning. “I’m Ellie Fairfield. You must be—” Gasping, she covered her mouth with both hands and staggered backwards.

  He’d filled out since their summer affair. His body had always been hard and strong but never so…big. Dark brown hair curled under his baseball cap and a short beard covered his face, yet she’d recognize those eyes anywhere. Beautiful, clear green eyes outlined with long, dark lashes. Eyes that could make her laugh with a wiggle of their brows, melt when they smoldered, and make her cry with one little scowl. It was the first thing she noticed about him in the backyard of her parent’s summer home when she was seventeen.

  Dreamy eyes as green as the grass, only clearer. He’d flashed them her way for weeks while mowing the lawn and cleaning the pool.

  Colton had never realized the powerful hold he had on her. Not only because of his massive size—which had changed from a fit teenager to a Thor body double—but from the way he looked at her, spoke to her, touched her with respect and care. She had believed he’d loved her. And when he vanished out of her life without a word, leaving her when she’d needed him most, he’d ripped out a gigantic piece of her heart that would never heal.

  “Colton?”

  He muttered a string of curses under his breath and leaned awkwardly to his right. “I didn’t know you were the owner. I’ll tell Rachael to find someone else.”

  So that was how it was going to be. Without a goodbye or a reason, Colton had abandoned their unborn baby and left her alone and heartbroken. Every day she woke up and stared at the constant reminder of her first love, her only love, and forced the pain to go away.

  It had lessened over time, but the hole he’d left behind had never filled. Ten years was a long time and she wouldn’t let the stubborn, arrogant, beautiful man ditch her again. She needed the work done and had no one else. Pretending he had no effect on her, she squared her shoulders and dug down deep in her chest to find her strong, confident voice. The one she used on her son when she tried to convince him to eat more vegetables.

  “It’s been a long time, Colton. Let’s move on and be mature about this. I have a job I’m paying you to do and you won’t have to see me at all. I’ll be inside. You’ll be outside. When you’re done, we can part ways and never see each other again.”

  “Grown up and mature? Pot calling the kettle, princess.”

  Oh, she hated when he called her that. It had started
out as a joke but when they had their last big fight, he had such hatred in his voice when he accused her of being a pampered princess that the term nerved her to no end.

  “Put your big boy panties on and suck it up. We don’t have to like each other or even talk to each other. I have a job I need to get done and Rachael swore you were willing and able to do it. If you can’t handle it, I’ll find someone else.”

  Please don’t call my bluff. Jake, Rachael’s fiancé, had a crew of teens and twenty-somethings working for his landscape company but they were in the middle of a big hotel job and couldn’t spare any hours. She put a posting on the bulletin board at Coast & Roast but the only people who responded were shady or ninety.

  “Where’s the supplies?”

  Sighing with relief, she nodded over her shoulder. “Come through this way. I’ll show you to the shed.”

  ***

  Colton

  Colton observed his surroundings like the trained sniper he was—had been—taking in the seashell themed room to the left, the squeaky wooden plank the third from the right four paces into the house, the faint smell of lemon and blueberries. He tried to avert his eyes from the round butt clad in tight denim as Ellie stormed through the inn. Yet he couldn’t help noticing the worn rip in the pocket covering her right cheek, willing it to tear when she bent down so he could get a glimpse of the soft silk he knew she liked to wear under her clothes.

  Cursing under his breath, he pushed his lust back a few notches as he hobbled after her. Ellie Fairfield haunted his sleep more than the terrorists and ISIS bastards he’d hunted down. They didn’t disguise themselves in pink satin and pretend to be sweet innocence before betraying you and ripping out your heart.

  Needing to tamp down his anger before they reached the shed—because Ellie could always read him like a book—he unclenched his fists and lowered his heart rate. He was good at that. Pretending to be in control when he wasn’t. So she wanted to play their little reunion as though it meant nothing? He could do that.